


In Decon

by DanOfVulcan



Series: Quotidiana [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Fluff and Kind of Smut, M/M, Malcolm likes it though he's never going to say so, Rubbing each other with decon gel, Starfleet Blues, Trip being flirty, Tuckerreed, decon chamber, light exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 14:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10515915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanOfVulcan/pseuds/DanOfVulcan
Summary: After a mission-gone-wrong, Trip and Malcom end up in Decon. Flirting ensues.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank my amazing beta, [prisdreamsbravely](http://archiveofourown.org/users/prisdreamsbravely/profile) for doing her magic. You're the best!

The mission didn’t sound dangerous, or particularly challenging even.

A simple away mission to a planet. No civilization whatsoever, small animal life forms only, pretty tranquil by the looks of it. Subcommander T’Pol had picked up traces of a radioactive mineral on the planet’s surface, insisting that it was worth a look.

“Rather unusual, Captain,” had been her words, if Trip’s memory served him right. Archer, ever the explorer, had decided it was worth a look, and that’s how they’d ended up in their current predicament.

Somehow, someway, both Trip and Malcolm had managed to get into trouble. _Again._ Shenanigans seemed to follow ‘The Trouble Twins’, (as they’d come to informally be known via scuttlebutt), catching up to them not half an hour after landing on the planet. What at first seemed like a perfectly smooth, carefree, almost shoreleave-like mission, took a turn in the form of the Chief Engineer and Armory Officer almost getting hit by an alien jackfruit. Or the closest thing to a jackfruit on that planet.

It was three times the size of the Earth fruit, and when it hit the ground not a meter and a half from the couple as they stood beneath a tall, large tree—it exploded, covering both men in a brown goo and yellow pollen.

Malcolm had started sneezing not a minute after the incident; strong, forceful sneezes that were quite loud. Trip might have laughed if not for the sudden concern that took over him. His mind raced through the possible scenarios. It could be a simple case of pollen allergies, or it could be that the plant had something in it that was affecting his husband in more severe ways.

All concerns, however, were put to rest by Phlox.

“Just a simple case of allergies, Commander,” the Denobulan said. After injecting Malcolm with an antihistamine shot, Phlox offered his prognosis. “Lieutenant Reed should be back to his usual self in a few hours.”

Much to the annoyance of both men, after a full-body scan, Phlox informed them that spores were in their systems, thus making Decon a must.

Acquiescing to medical protocol, both men sighed, puffed, and grudgingly made their way to the blue-lit room.

“Don’t worry, gentlemen,” came Phlox’s voice over the com. “A single cycle should be enough to eliminate all the spores.” He paused momentarily. Alone in the Decon chamber, Trip and Malcolm exchanged glances, before Phlox’s voice was heard again. “Do let me know if you feel anything unusual.” And at that, the couple was left to the chamber’s silence.

“We might as well get undressed.” Malcolm broke the silence, his tone one of a man resigned to his burden.

Trip, in turn, had made his way to the locker to grab the decon gel. When he turned, he found Malcolm seated on the bench, back turned to him as he unlaced his shoes.

The blonde walked over to where his husband was seated, all the while admiring the man he had fallen in love with.

To some, Decon might seem the least romantic, or least appropriate, moment to gaze upon a loved one. But to Trip it seemed just right. His adorably short (though he’d never say so to his face), husband sitting there, head ducked down as he worked to remove his boots, and…

“Is that the gel?” Malcolm’s voice broke Trip’s reverie.

“Yes,” he answered, closing the final meters that separated them. He placed the gel container beside Malcolm, taking a seat right next to the circular container, keeping it between them.

“Good.” Malcolm got up. “Now we can get to smearing it all over ourselves,” he said dryly, before deftly removing his coveralls in a single, flowing motion that spoke of years of martial arts training. When he turned around, his husband was still seated, looking like a fool, eyes fixated on him, mouth half open, just taking in the picture.

“Well—” Malcolm began, tossing his coveralls jacket on the bench, “—are you going to undress or not?”

Trip shot Malcolm one of his sly smiles, before saying, “Ya don’t have t’ask twice, Love,” and started peeling off his uniform.

By the time both men were down to their underwear and shirts, Trip had moved to stand behind Malcolm. It gave him the perfect vantage point from which to appreciate his husband’s physique. Malcolm’s frame— though smaller than Trip’s—was toned, muscled, indicating agility and combat expertise, of someone who could very well survive on their own in an inhospitable environment, of having the skills necessary to take care of themselves. The back, though not particularly broad, was strong, with toned muscles rippling under firm skin, shoulder blades moving almost erotically as Malcolm folded his uniform on a neat pile on the bench.

Though focused on folding his uniform, it never escaped Malcolm’s perception that his husband had gone awfully silent for quite a long period of time. Or as long a period as silences went where Charles Tucker-Reed was concerned.

Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm saw Trip move closer, and felt his hand coming to rest at his waistline.

It was a loving touch. A touch of devotion, almost protective as Trip’s hand brushed ever so lightly at the hem of Malcolm’s shirt, delicately pulling him closer. All Malcolm could do was close his eyes, enjoy the moment, relish in it. A light blush crept up his cheeks, painting them a light rosy shade against the blue lighting of the decon chamber.

It was a delicate embrace, materializing seemingly out of nowhere, strangely out of place, yet ideal.

“Umm, Commander?” the Armory Officer inquired, eyes shut, voice a whisper.

“Yes, Loo-tenant?” Trip asked in the Southern drawl he knew Malcolm loved.

Trip was so close Malcolm could feel the heat emanating from him. “Your hand?” It was uttered in such a lazy, laid-back tone that it was almost nothing like a real question, but rather a general inquiry.

The blonde was staring intently at his husband, taking in all the serenity in his physiognomy. “Yep—” Trip said as he pulled Malcolm closer, “—my hand”.

“Just making certain…”  The Englishman paused briefly before continuing,  “—it wasn’t there by accident.”

Trip’s fingers played with the hem of the shirt, pulling it up just enough for his thumb to rub at Malcolm’s laterals, pale skin bathed in blue, the warmth of the skin a gentle reminder of intimate moments. “Definitely not an accident,” Trip more whispered than spoke, his warm breath against Malcolm’s right ear.

The shorter man counted his blessings. “Good,” came the almost inaudible reply.

There was a moment of loving, caring silence, as both men exchanged caresses. Malcolm gently ran his fingers on Trip’s thighs, playing with the blonde hair, and Trip massaging Malcolm’s neck and shoulders, nothing but the soft humming sound of distant warp engines around them.

When Trip did finally break the silence, it was to ask how his husband was feeling, to which the latter said he was just fine before motioning that Trip should continue the massage.

“Ah know t’take your ‘justfine’s with a grain of salt, Love,” Trip said as he worked on a knot at his husband’s nape.

Malcolm moaned as his husband undid said knot.

Trip smiled, satisfied with himself.

“Arms up!” he said, hands moving from Malcolm’s nape to his waist, giving him a light slap of encouragement.

“Beg your pardon?” Malcolm asked, confused from both the numbness the massage had induced on his brain, and the sudden outburst of his husband.

“Your shirt, Malcolm,”—Trip began pulling at the hem of his husband’s shirt—“needs to go if you want me to spread the gel on your back.”

Malcolm had all but forgotten about the damn gel. “Oh,”  he absent-mindedly added, as Trip coaxed his arms up, the black shirt quickly slipping over Malcolm’s head.

“Now that’s more like it,” Trip jokingly proclaimed, reaching for the gel.

As he poured some of the substance into his hand, he took another glance at his husband. _God, I love you so, Mal!_

“Ready?” he asked, spreading the gel on Malcolm’s back.

“Hit me,” came his husband’s playful reply.

Malcolm never ceased to be amazed at how cold the gel was, especially as it made contact with warm skin. Trip, however, deftly spread the substance all over his back, and in doing so transferring some heat to the sparkling gel.

“Trip?” His tone spoke of being comfortable and entirely at ease.

“Yes, Love?” Trip’s spoke of nothing but devotion.

“I think”—Malcolm pointed with a finger at his nape—“you missed a spot”.

Trip chuckled. “My bad, darlin’.”

What startled Malcolm wasn’t the contact, but the kind of contact.

The kiss was totally unexpected. Chaste, delicate, almost virginal, and yet loving and passionate. Malcolm loved it, once recovered from the shock.

“Trip,” he turned around to look at his husband. “Not in here!”

“Why not?”

“We’re on duty, for starters.” Malcolm looked Trip in the eye before continuing. “And in decon.”

“So?”

“So, you ask?” Malcolm spoke as low as possible. “Phlox is just behind that wall,” he said, one finger pointed at the wall between the decon chamber and sickbay. “The same Phlox,” he continued en force, “that has an unending curiosity about ‘human mating rituals!’ Need I remind you of that?”

“Oh, darlin,’” Trip drawled. “Ah know…” he turned Malcolm around to continue spreading the gel. Once he had Malcolm’s nape covered in the substance, he turned him around to face him again.

“So,” he began casually. “Not up for some exhibitionism?”

The look Malcolm gave him made Trip laugh out loud.

“Not in the decon chamber, I’m not!” came the fake-offended, very-British reply.

“Afraid we’d set the bar too high, darlin’?” Trip asked, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Definitely so!” Malcolm replied through chuckles, then kissed his husband. “How disappointed would the poor doctor be, once he realised he’d just witnessed the apex of human love making,” he finished with feigned arrogance.

Trip chuckled and kissed his husband. Then catching Malcolm’s jaw, he took a few seconds to stare into grey-green eyes before pulling away entirely.

“Now,” Trip said whilst turning around and pulling his starfleet issue blue shirt over his head, “do me.”

His mischievous smile caused Malcolm to smile in turn.

“My pleasure, Mistah Tucker.”


End file.
